


Underthings

by FiccinDylan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Misunderstanding, Underwear, mannequins, underthings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 10:46:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4098091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FiccinDylan/pseuds/FiccinDylan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson drags Stiles to find some new underthings. Stiles finds otherways to preoccupy his time.</p><p>Based on the prompt: "one time at h&m i thought a guy was a mannequin so i started feeling the material of his coat and i screamed when he moved and we were both really freaked out"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Underthings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The LINE Crew](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+LINE+Crew).



> Hi guys! Don't worry, I'm still working on _In the Know_ , I just kinda hit a snag and today was WEIRD! Anyhoo, some buddies and I were talking about a fic based on the prompt above and I thought it would be fun to hammer something out real quick for it. It's really pre-sterek, but it's not preslash. I hope that makes sense. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! There's an NSFW pic of the undies in the end notes.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Dammit Jackson, _please_!” Stiles whines as he gets pulled by an invisible tether into an unmentionables boutique somewhere in the heart of the meatpacking district. Stiles can’t even appreciate the irony as Jackson refuses to acknowledge his pathetic pleas. Although Jackson’s choke hold on him is figurative, Stiles is helpless to pull away. He has no cash and no clue where they are; all he remembers is being pulled down 2 alleys, down a hall, up 3 flights of stairs and then into an elevator; and he could have sworn the building only had 4 floors!

“I’m nowhere near cool enough for this place. I don’t have enough functionality disabling piercings or water color tattoos of that time I took a gap year in the Himalayas.” Stiles whines, “I've never even been to the fucking Himalayas!  I’m not chic enough to be here. They’re going to judge me and dammit, I can take being laughed at, but I can’t be judged by ultra hipsters, Jackson! You’re leading me to my cross!”

At the nondescript entrance to the bespokerie, Jackson finally turns and stares directly into Stiles’ pauper soul.

“You lead yourself there by continuing to wear those ridiculous boxers with the hole just to the left of the crack of your ass. And then you completely dismissed my warnings that this exact thing would happen if I found out you were wearing them again.” Jackson raps on the door 3 times and then a fourth all while slowly looking Stilinski up and down. He tuts and shakes his head. “How the fuck did you even get a hole there?”

Stiles at least has the good sense to blush, and waggles his eyebrows, “I’m pretty sure Isaac dragged them over a rock, but I don’t mind it. It makes me feel a little bit _randy_.” Stiles staggers as he nearly gets sucked into the orbit Jackson almost creates with his eyeroll.

“Stiles you are too closely acquainted with me and too fucking single to walk around with holes in your underthings. We are here to get you new ones and before we leave” Jackson says, pointing in the general direction of Stiles’ ass. “We _will_ burn those boxers.” Jackson glares at Stiles like a challenge and Stiles was never one to back down from a challenge.

“First of all, did you just say _underthings_?” He starts. Jackson ignores him so he files it for later and continues, “Secondly, how are we going to burn the boxers? Do you really think I’d be stupid enough to wear them knowing you’d be coming to get me and where we’d be going?” Stiles grins cockily, enjoying his short-lived victory until he looks back at Jackson who has narrowed his eyes.

Jackson glances at the door and in an instant, he lunges at Stiles tackling him around the waist. Stiles barely has time to let out a yelp before Jackson is tearing the band of the offensive boxers up and out of the back of Stiles’ pants. Jackson waves a scrap of the fabric around and shoves Stiles away, poking him in the chest and hissing.

“Don’t you fucking embarrass me, Stilinski!” Before Stiles can respond the door opens and bright lights spills into the darkened hallway. Jackson recovers quickly and throws the fabric away before enveloping the shopkeep in a hug.

“Jonathan! You son of a bitch, how are you?” Jackson asks, excitedly wrapping himself around the handsomely manicured, goateed gentleman. While returning the embrace, _Jonathan_ manages to look Stiles up and down with one eye before whispering something coyly into Jackson’s ear. Jackson merely turns his head with an assessing yet dismissive scan and huffs.

“You have _no_ idea.” The two men waltz through the door leaving Stiles to follow behind them. He does so with a beleaguered sigh as he tramps through the door and into… well, he’s not sure what he’s walked into, but somewhere there is a _“underthings for fancymen”_ enthusiast who is very jealous of Stiles’ position.

The shop was couture so there were several styles on display that you could choose and be fitted for, ordering before you left. In the showroom there was a diverse set of mannequins wearing different varieties of hand crafted and designed unmentionables. These weren’t just any mannequins though.

“Are these Real Dolls?” Stiles asks absentmindedly. Jonathan looks at him with warring expressions; one clearly offended for Stiles having dared deign that Jonathan would _ever_ have something so tasteless as a sex doll in his shop and the other hoping he could pull off ignorance of what “real doll” even was. Regardless of the turmoil the look is still withering and dripping with sarcasm. Stiles would be impressed if he weren’t so _hurt_. Jonathan bristles at him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” he says slyly as he grabs Jackson by the elbow and leads him towards a side room. He looks everywhere but at Stiles while addressing him directly, “I’ve pulled some looks for Jackson to peruse on your behalf. Feel free to browse and see if there’s anything you like.”

The two walk away gossiping about the tragedy that is Stiles Stilinski and Stiles stays behind trying to manage the rapid blood flow to his junk. The mannequins are _really_ lifelike.

He walks over to one the color of cappuccino with dark, chocolate colored nibs for nipples. The full lips and sparkling brown eyes look out into the middle distance allowing the viewer to draw their eye to the black mesh boyshorts without fear of judgement. Even through the see-through mesh, the mannequin sported a pretty nice package.

“Come here often?” Stiles practices on “Manny” his hot new mannequin conquest. “I’d like to check the tag on your undies.” Stiles puts his hand down the back of Manny’s underwear (he may or may not give the bottom an exploratory squeeze) and looks at the tag. Of course this boutique would never have anything so gauche as a pricetag, but Stiles liked to know where things are made.

“Yup, just like I thought.” he says, placing both hands on Manny’s hips and looking into his deep, soulful crystal composite eyes. “ _Made in Heaven_.”

Stiles starts to lean in for a kiss and is distracted by another mannequin. This one has hair down its back and fucking stubble! It’s wearing a pair of boxer briefs in black banded lace that stands out gloriously on the mannequin’s chestnut colored skin. Stiles looks back at Manny sorrowfully.

“Sorry, Manny. But ManneQuinn over there has a bun that’s just dying to be put on the top of his head and someone’s gotta help him! Say you’ll wait for me, lover?” Manny.. doesn’t respond, due to purely being an inanimate object, but Stiles feels deep inside that Manny understands. He walks over to ManneQuinn and is putting his hair into an elaborate bun as Jackson and Jonathan come out from the latter’s office. Both see him and sigh.

“Mr. Stilinski, please follow me.” Stiles finishes taking his selfie and changes his Facebook status to _It’s Complicated_ before following Jonathan back to what appears to be a fitting room. Inside there are several doors with mirrors and a mini stage in the middle. Jonathan hands him a pair of underwear and points him to the nearest room.

“Jackson informed me about the unfortunate state of your current unmentionables. He’s picked out this prototype and if it fits I’ll let you walk out with it.” He holds out a quart sized Ziploc baggie. “Put whatever it is you’re wearing in here. We were going to set them on fire, but I have too many flammable fabrics and I feel like whatever you’re wearing would commit hari kari and take the whole store down. Not to worry though, I’m sure we can find some pigs to feed them to.”

“Bro, seriously? Do you have a team of monkeys writing this shit for you throughout the day?” Stiles snatches the bag and the undies out of Jonathan’s pinched grasp. “Whatever happened to a nice, simple put down? You gotta eviscerate me with british gangster references?”

“ _Stiles_.” Jackson huffs.

“Jackson I’m two seconds from crying over here, come on!”

“Go change!”

“A man can only take so much!” Stiles grumbles as he walks into the changing room and removes all of his clothes. He places his heretofore lucky drawers in the plastic baggie and then shimmies into the shorts Jackson picked out for him.

“Dammit!” he yells out, a little louder than intended. He opens the door and walks into the middle of the fitting room. There were two mannequins in there and Stiles regards one of them. “I’m so pissed Manny #2! These things look great on me!”

And they did. Black stretchy fabric secured his package and curved right above the buttocks. The cheeks themselves were covered with a sheer, black stocking fabric and there was a little cutout where the two fabrics met.

“How can I be righteously angry and look this hot? I feel so fucking naughty, Manny #2. How do I look, be honest? Good, huh?” Stiles walks over to the mannequin to his right and shakes his hips while staring into its blue eyes. He walks up and places his arms around the mannequin’s broad shoulders and runs his hands over its blond spiky hair.

“Damn, you are made out of the finest silicone blend of plastic and freaky pretentious bullshit. I’m afraid you’re not the worst though, that one over there they’ve outfitted with a fucking phone.” Stiles motions with his head to the other mannequin, but keeps his eyes on Manny #2. He scans down the defined pecs and stellar abs and reaches down to tweak a nipple. He looks up through his lashes and sighs.

“Marry me?” When Manny #2 doesn’t answer his request he decides to go see what iManny is up to. He stalks up from the back and laughs.

“Who the hell even makes shit like this?” Stiles asks, regarding the model’s novelty wear. “Though I gotta say, I would normally dismiss this unitard, but iManny is making it look really good.” The unitard in question is a one-piece that hooks over the shoulders and then carries a wide band of leather fabric down the torso and underneath the carriage where the strip of fabric nestles in the crack, keeping the buttocks exposed.

Stiles reaches forward and pulls the fabric to him releasing it with a light giggle. He cups the buttock and gives it a little squeeze.

“You’ve got some major competition, Manny #2, this one is so warm and lifelike.” Stiles says, transfixed by the buns.

“That’s because this one is alive.”

“Hairy thighs even? I guess if you really need that visual it works. But the attention to detail is astounding.” Stiles keeps his eyes down and cups iManny’s package. “This is freaky detailed, I swear I can feel it moving.”

“That’s because it _is_ moving.”

Stiles looks over at Manny #2, just now registering a voice.

“Does he have a voicebox? Is that coming from the phone?” Stiles reaches to grab for the phone and screams when the arm moves itself away.

“Hollywood!” Stiles stumbles back and clutches his hand to his chest. The hand that was just holding a stranger’s cock. Not iManny, no, iManny didn’t exist. Instead in his place was insanely hot, intense eyebrows, unitard guy. “I’m so.. I’m so…”

“Excited? Are you also _so scared_?” Sexy buns deadpans. Stiles remembers to breathe and thinks for a moment.

“What? Is that _Saved By the Bell_ or were you threatening me?  Are you threatening me with _Saved By the Bell_?” Stiles takes a moment to ponder if that's rude or genius as he brings his hand up to his nose and inhales lightly.

Before the man can answer, Jackson and Jon come running into the fitting room.

“Oh my god, what happened, what’s wrong?” Jonathan shouts, running to really fucking sexy underwear.. umm.. have-r-on...er. “Derek are you okay? Did he get his tragic on you?”

“Dude!” Stiles says, embarrassed _and_ insulted. Jackson looks at him and rolls his eyes.

“Stiles, what did you do?” Stiles looks at his traitorous friend, shocked.

“Nothing! Why do you assume it’s my fault?” Jackson levels Stiles with a look, but Stiles wet dream for the rest of forever, aka Derek evidently, interrupts.

“It was nothing, just a misunderstanding.” Derek just shrugs like he’s not wearing a ridiculous (and hot for some reason) unitard. “He just felt me up a little.”

“Stiles!”

“Oh Derek, no! Do you need a wet nap?”

“I have feelings you wang!”

“You also had those awful underwear.” Jackson and Jon literally say in one voice. Stiles seethes, but takes what he feels is obviously the high road.

“First of all, it’s not my fucking fault that your mannequins are ridiculously and unnecessarily fine as _HELL_! And when Eyebrows over here-”

“Eyebrows?” Derek questions, raising the objects in question into an intimidating arch.

“Yes, _Eyebrows_ , you sexy unitard wearing bastard! When he started moving I felt like fucking Jonathan Switcher.”

“But he went with the Meshach Taylor reference.” Derek Hot Buns interjects. Stiles gawps.

“How the fuck is that germane to this story?”

“This is a story?” Stiles flips off Jonathan and Derek chuckles.

“Thought it was worth mentioning. I feel like you’d save me from a woodchipper if the situation called for it.” Stiles puts his finger down and finally realizes the situation he’s in.

Stiles has never been one for working out and six pack abs for himself, but he’s got a pretty great physique. He’s skinny, but not frail, some would call his body _lithe_. He also wears glasses and fitted graphic tees so the nerd thing also gets him a lot of play. He was broad in the shoulders and slim in the waist and a perfect balance of walking everywhere and living within six blocks of a Chick-fil-A has given him a bubble butt to die for.

Now his ass was literally on display and he was standing in a room with a stupid hot guy in a unitard. On one hand it indicated an adventurous nature, on the other hand, the guy might just be in tune to Stiles’ own freaky nature. A man in a unitard isn’t someone who says ‘no’ to new challenges Stiles thinks.

“So Derek, you don’t seem to be a pretentious dick.” That’s right Stilinski, come out the gate strong. Derek simply grins.

“I’m not. As I recall you became very familiar with my dick.”

“Familiar? If you’d like, I’ve love to become great friends with your dick. I wanna sit around on the couch and watch bad ‘80s movies with your dick.”

“That movie is a treasure.”

“I’m sure we can use your mouth for other things instead of spewing such nonsense.”

Derek actually chokes out a laugh and gives Stiles, long, stopping at every floor, elevator look. He then walks up to Stiles coming just about an inch from his face. Stiles’ mouth has parted as if by instinct and he inhales slightly. Derek reaches around and slides his hand in the cutout of Stiles’ undies and gropes his asscheek giving it a firm squeeze. Stiles whimpers.

“I’d like to see what other things we can get my mouth to do. Jackson has my number.” Derek walks into one of the rooms and a few seconds later walks out with his pants, a shirt and shoes in tow. He walks out of the fitting room and soon they hear the front door open and close. Stiles spins around to Jackson.

“Why do you have his number, slut?” He points at Jackson accusingly. Jackson spits a laugh in Stiles’ face.

“He’s an underwear model!” Jackson answers as though the statement qualifies to be called an answer.

“What?” Stiles flails, “Fucking, _-and_?!”

“And? _And_ we fucked! Have you seen him?” Jackson motions to where Derek was standing and Stiles swears he can still see his hotness imprinting into the atmosphere. “Did you see how he was pulling off that onesie?”

Stiles sighs. “I want to see him pull off that onesie, alright. Or let me do it for him… with my teeth.”

Jackson laughs and slaps Stiles on the ass.

“See how confident you are in your new undies? This is why I’m getting you these and six other pairs and I’m going to make sure you buy another pair every other pay period.” Stiles wants badly to open his mouth to protest, but right now his own ass is giving him a boner and he can’t muster up the defiance.

“I’m still going to mock you for saying ‘underthings’ earlier, but I’ll wait until after you pay because these puppies are sticky and about to be ruined. Fuck, I can still smell his cologne. I’m in love, Jax. Come here and let’s dance around a little. Jonny, do you have any Taylor Swift!?”

“No!”

“Stiles, you’re disgusting, but with my help it will only be internal.” Jackson cocks his head at Stiles fondly causing Stiles to slightly blush.

“Thank you, Jax. I love you.”

“Love you too, Jerkface.” Jackson says with a smirk as he hands Jonathan his black card. He texts Stiles Derek’s number and when Jonathan leaves the two dance in the changing room to Jackson singing _Bad Blood_ as Stiles twirls him around the room.

 

**Author's Note:**

> NSFW WARNING:
> 
> Just in case you guys wanted to know what the undies looked like: 
> 
>  


End file.
